


Morning Glory

by darkmagicalgirl



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, M/M, Morning Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-02
Updated: 2015-07-02
Packaged: 2018-04-07 08:56:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4257264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkmagicalgirl/pseuds/darkmagicalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On their days off, Hanamaki and Matsukawa's mornings follow a sort of routine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Morning Glory

**Author's Note:**

> Good ways to deal with stress: write happy MatsuHana sex.

Hanamaki is not and will never be a morning person. People can compose odes to the wonders of fresh morning air and dew shining in the light of the sunrise all they want, but Hanamaki knows the truth, and the truth is that mornings are _terrible_. They are cold, they are far too early, and they usually announce their presence in the most disgustingly rude of ways, like with obnoxious birds shrieking or his boyfriend’s alarm going off at 6:30 in the fucking morning even though it’s their day off.

Hanamaki opens his mouth to deliver a speech along this general trend, but all that manages to come out is a distressed whine.

“Sorry, sorry,” Matsukawa says and shifts around in the bed as he searches for his phone, inadvertently moving Hanamaki out of his perfect warm cocoon of blankets so that he is, horror of horrors, touching slightly chillier parts of the blankets instead.

“Noooo,” Hanamaki moans, reaching out to grasp at the retreating warmth and hitting empty air. 

“Sorry,” Matsukawa says again, finally getting his phone to quiet down. “I forgot to turn it off.”

“C’m back,” Hanamaki says into his pillow, not sure if he’s talking to Matsukawa or the warmth. “Still sleep, big warm.”

Matsukawa chuckles as he lies down again, letting Hanamaki curl into him hungrily in his search for heat. “You’re so eloquent,” he says. “Have you ever considered becoming some kind of writer?”

Hanamaki flings up a hand in the general direction of Matsukawa’s mouth, mostly hitting his nose. “Shhh,” he says, burrowing further into Matsukawa’s side. “Quiet time.”

“Sometimes I get the impression you’re just using me for my body,” Matsukawa says, gently pushing the hand away and shifting them so he can play with Hanamaki’s hair. “What do you think of that?”

“’s true,” Hanamaki says agreeably as he wonders, not for the first time, why he had to fall for someone who woke up as full of words and witticisms as Matsukawa. He’s probably an alien or some kind of robot. Hanamaki would have to investigate this at a more reasonable hour.

“How cruel of you,” Matsukawa says. Thankfully, he seems to get the idea and quiets down, freeing Hanamaki’s mind to drift off again. He doesn’t fall back asleep, not quite, but between the return of the warmth and Matsukawa’s hand scratching gently against his scalp, making him shiver happily, he’s as cozy and content as can be.

As time ticks by in that hazy way the morning minutes always tend toward, not even sure themselves how fast or slow they ought to be, Matsukawa continues to pet him. It’s something of a ritual at this point, on days where they don’t have to force themselves out from under their covers in time for train schedules and time cards, because even on days when they can stay abed as long as they like, Matsukawa still wakes up early. Once he’s up, he can’t fall back asleep, but Hanamaki isn’t ready to let him leave the bed.

Luckily, Matsukawa has always been able to appreciate the softer moments, and seems perfectly glad to let Hanamaki use him as a pillow so long as he can use Hanamaki’s body as a canvas in return, running his fingers up and down his sides in calligraphic caresses, creating patterns between the freckles, moles, and rare scars that dot Hanamaki’s skin.

He starts at Hanamaki’s neck, fingers trailing lazy love letters against the spots where in more youthful days they’d suck bruises with tongues and teeth heady with the desperation of teenage passion. He blunts his nails against the bow of Hanamaki’s shoulders, light scratches that make Hanamaki hum into Matsukawa’s chest with appreciation. Thin curls of sensation trace the course of Matsukawa’s attentions down his shoulder blades and across to the dip of his spine, upwards with the backs of his nails and down with the pads of his fingertips.

He spreads his hand out across Hanamaki’s ribs, feeling along the grooves and crests indistinguishable to the eye under muscle. If he’d kept his touch light enough to tickle, Hanamaki would have to swat at him and disturb this wonderful peace, so he’s glad that Matsukawa presses deep with his thumb, earning another gratified mumble from deep in Hanamaki’s chest.

Matsukawa moves on to Hanamaki’s hips, pausing innocently to explore each slope as if Hanamaki can’t guess the path he intends to pursue eventually. If he means to take his time about it, though, Hanamaki has no real complaints, for Matsukawa’s hands are strong and clever when put to work on any part of him, and the days when he has the chance to savor their skill are never unwelcome.

So he doesn’t mind when Matsukawa brushes only lightly against his ass before drifting away, back up the way they came. He mutters something he doesn’t bother to make comprehensible, earning a low rumble of a laugh in response, and shifts so he can press more insistently against Matsukawa’s thigh, but it’s halfway just to fulfill his role in this routine, play his part in a dance they’ve undertaken more times than he can count and hopes to encore for more still.

Matsukawa is always happy to oblige even when he’s teasing, so bends up his leg just enough to give Hanamaki a surface to really rub himself against in slow, circling thrusts, each one with just a hair more intent than the last, even as his focus remains with the lines being pressed deep into the muscles of his lower back, right at the spot where tension always collects.

Some of those presses seem familiar to him.

“Are you writing on me now?” he asks, voice still thick with sleep but finally clear, even as he’s speaking more into Matsukawa’s neck than his ear. He enjoys the the reverberations of Matsukawa’s laugh beneath him.

“Maybe,” Matsukawa says, never pausing in his movements. “Do you know what I’m writing?”

“I’m shit at this kind of thing,” Hanamaki says.

“Concentrate,” is Matsukawa’s advice, which he immediately undercuts with a particularly pleasurable push of his thigh, aimed just right to stir Hanamaki’s dick from slight to full interest.

“Cheater,” Hanamaki says and tips his head up so he can lightly bite Matsukawa’s jaw reprovingly.

“I’m just trying to provide some motivation,” Matsukawa says, repeating the motion with deadly efficiency. “I know you have trouble waking up, after all.”

“Fuck you,” Hanamaki says, not bothering to slow his thrusts at all.

“We both know that’s too much effort for you in the morning,” Matsukawa says. “How about I just blow you instead?”

“Finally, a sensible idea of you,” Hanamaki says. He has to stop pressing up against Matsukawa’s thigh if he’s to roll over, which is regrettable but worth it when Matsukawa props himself up, grinning down at him in that amused, irrepressibly fond way he has that’s half the reason Hanamaki fell for him in the first place.

“I’d kiss you if I didn’t know your mouth tasted worse that ass right now,” Matsukawa tells him.

“You’re a regular romance hero, you are,” Hanamaki says and glares when Matsukawa just sits back on his heels and looks down at him. “Hey, I was promised a blowjob, here. What’s the hold up?”

“Admiring the view,” Matsukawa says, eyes sweeping over Hanamaki from top to toe.

“Come on, the novelty of seeing me naked must have worn off by now,” Hanamaki says, wiggling his hips.

“Sure, the novelty has,” Matsukawa says and gives Hanamaki another one of those aggressively tender looks.

“You’re so embarrassing,” Hanamaki says, doing his best not to let on how stupidly gooey his insides get whenever Matsukawa pulls this sentimental shit on him without warning.

“I’m not the one with his dick hanging out.”

“It’s only hanging out because you _said_ you’d put it in your mouth and then just sat there staring at me,” Hanamaki says. “You’re the one to blame for this situation,” he nods down at his erection. “So you should help sort it out.”

“In fairness, that’s like fifty percent biology,” Matsukawa says, actually looking fucking interested in the subject as he scratches at the scruff that’s popped up overnight on his chin. “Nocturnal penile tumes-”

“If you finish that sentence, I will break up with you,” Hanamaki says. “Are we actually going to do this or can I fall back asleep?”

“Impatience is not a virtue,” Matsukawa says but slides down the bed anyway so his head is level with Hanamaki’s cock. “Any special requests?”

“Less commentary, more actual sex,” Hanamaki says without hesitation and groans the next second when Matsukawa surprisingly follows his instructions for once and takes Hanamaki into his mouth, warm and wet and perfect. His hands come up to rest on the inside of Hanamaki’s thighs, keeping them well apart.

“Ah, fuck,” Hanamaki says, eyes falling closed as Matsukawa’s tongue flexes against the underside of his dick and he bears down further, as far as he can go in this position, at this angle, and Hanamaki can feel a bit of saliva trickle down from where Matsukawa’s lips don’t quite meet. They’re always messier in the morning, sloppy with sleepiness, and he loves it.

Matsukawa pulls up and off, smoothing his tongue over the head, pressing just lightly into the slit in the way he _knows_ drives Hanamaki crazy and is so unfair to use on him before Hanamaki has had his morning caffeine. He hisses and brings his own hands down to tug at Matsukawa’s hair, earning him a smirk he feels more than sees against the side of cock as Matsukawa tips his head to slide his lips down, leaving a trail of heat that makes Hanamaki whimper. 

“Stop teasing,” Hanamaki says, voice hoarse, opening his eyes and propping himself up on his elbows so he can glare down at Matsukawa where he’s looking up as innocently as he can manage while being centimeters away from a cock still wet from his mouth, lips shiny with spit. “Don’t be a dick.”

“Don’t be a dick to your dick?” Matsukawa asks and Hanamaki is ready to throw a pillow at him when he closes his lips slightly below the head and sucks, hard. Hanamaki actually has to fight to keep his hip still, Matsukawa really wouldn’t appreciate it if he thrust up now, but oh, how his body would like him to do just that, to ram up into that perfect heat.

“Issei,” he grunts out and Matsukawa answers by pulling off, because Matsukawa is a bastard, but he follows that up by licking hard at the skin where his balls meet his cock, because Matsukawa is a fucking amazing bastard who knows exactly what to do to shatter Hanamaki to pieces. 

Hanamaki fights the urge to close his eyes again as Matsukawa pulls his dick back into his mouth, but he likes the view, likes to see how Matsukawa always lets his eyelids drop almost all the way, as if somehow blowing Hanamaki is just a much of a turn-on for him as it is for Hanamaki, the way his cheeks hollow out when he sucks, how every so often he glances up to check on Hanamaki’s reaction, as if the moans and incomplete swear words Hanamaki can’t stop from spilling out of him aren’t confirmation enough that Hanamaki is really, really enjoying himself.

“You always look so fucking incredible like this,” Hanamaki manages to say even as his voice goes ragged and raw with need. “You always- fuck, fuck, Issei, you’re perfect, you’re- I’m-” Words fail him and he fumbles urgently at Matsukawa’s neck and shoulders in warning so he can pull off in time.

Coming is like an explosion, all his muscles tensing up as he rides it out with Matsukawa stroking him through it and red flaring behind his eyelids, which have slammed shut. When it leaves him he feels like he’s collapsing back against the mattress even if he never got that far from it in the first place, all his muscle jellied and shivery as tiny aftershocks course through him.

It leaves him hazier and warmer than before and he sighs happily. He could slip back into sleep like this, no problem, but he forces himself to open his eyes in time to see Matsukawa wiping his hands off with the towel he must have put by the bedside table the night before.

“You remembered that but not to shut off your alarm?” Hanamaki says groggily.

“I said I was sorry,” Matsukawa says and raises his eyebrows as he throws a gaze at Hanamaki’s entire current state. “Pretty extensively, if you ask me.”

“Maybe you did it intentionally,” Hanamaki says, shifting to look up at the ceiling. “To get me to have sex with you.”

Matsukawa snorts. “Trust me, it is not that difficult to get you to have sex with me. Actually, it’s pretty much the easiest thing in the world. I could show you a paint swatch and you’d be like, ah yes, carmine red, I should have sex with Issei again.”

“Shut up,” Hanamaki grumbles, because it’s not like he can really refute that.

“I wasn’t complaining,” Matsukawa assures him, lying down next to him.

Hanamaki sighs. He feels all floaty and boneless, he really could fall back asleep at a moment’s notice and the idea has more than a little appeal, but Matsukawa is right there, having gotten him off and visibly hard through his boxers. Hanamaki can’t leave him like that, no matter how lazy he feels. Then again…

Hanamaki rolls over onto his stomach and spreads his legs. “Here,” he says. “Go wild.”

“Excuse me?” Matsukawa asks, sounding more than a little amused.

Hanamaki spreads his legs wider. “Do whatever you want, have fun, just don’t expect me to move.”

Matsukawa makes a choking noise and goes silent for several moments. “I hope you appreciate,” he says finally. “How much self-control it is taking me not to do something really ridiculous to you right now. Draw a map on your butt. Arrange flowers between your ass cheeks. Go out, design a flag, have it printed on one of those tiny flag sticks, stick that in your butt like I’m the butt-explorer claiming your butt for all butternity.”

“Whatever makes you happy, no judgements here,” Hanamaki says, waving his ass back and forth enticingly. “I was kind of assuming you’d just fuck me, though.”

“No imagination,” Matsukawa says before crawling over top Hanamaki and reaching over to the drawer where they keep the lube, condoms, and other supplies in a box that at some point in the last five years had earned the writing SECRET MILKBREAD STASH on the lid, for the purpose of paying Oikawa back for his snooping tendencies. Hanamaki can’t even remember which one of them wrote it.

Hanamaki smiles into his pillow and closes his eyes as Matsukawa settles between his legs, not paying attention to the sounds of the lube bottle clicking open. He’s pleased, when the first gentle pressure against his entrance comes, that Matsukawa took the time to warm it up in his hands. Hanamaki doesn’t have a complete list of things that could ruin a happy morning, but a cold finger up the ass would definitely be on it if he did.

“You don’t have to take so long,” Hanamaki says when Matsukawa doesn’t press in right away, opting instead to circle his finger around the rim of his entrance which slightly increasing pressure. “This is for you, not me, remember?”

“But I like doing things this way,” Matsukawa says, a smile in his voice, finger moving even slower. “If my pleasure comes from pleasuring you, is anything I do for you really not just an extended way of pleasuring myself?”

Hanamaki rolls his eyes behind his eyelids. “What is this, Philosophy of Fucking 101?”

“Would that be an entry-level class?” Matsukawa asks and finally, finally pushes his finger in as he speaks, making Hanamaki’s annoyed groan turn into something a bit deeper. It hasn’t been that long since they’ve last done this and he’s used to it, so it goes in easily, not even the hint of a burn.

Matsukawa keeps up the torturous pace, so methodical that Hanamaki can guess exactly what he’s up to as he slowly, deliberately stretches out the time and makes sure to hit on every technique he knows Hanamaki likes, stretching him out real slow with a second finger and curling not-quite against his prostate, stroking the walls so the indirect stimulation makes him shudder in anticipation.

Hanamaki knows what he’s doing, because Matsukawa is so predictable, but he must be predictable, too, because by the time Matsukawa is sliding his fingers in and out in a languorous rhythm, crooking them at the end of each thrust, Hanamaki’s dick is firming up again and his breath has gone uneven.

“Fuck,” he says, and it comes out more of a moan than anything else, especially when he follows it up with a sound that has too many vowels to be an actual word.

“Having fun?” Matsukawa asks. When Hanamaki tries to push up back into his fingers, forcing the pace to quicken, he removes them entirely and slides his hand, still slippery with lube, up between Hanamaki’s thighs. Hanamaki’s cock is still a bit oversensitive where it’s trapped between his stomach and the bed, so he’s glad when Matsukawa only massages his sac, fingers and thumb pressing in with unrelenting expertise until Hanamaki is whining and half-humping the bed.

“Issei, please,” he pants, feeling bereft without those skillful hands working inside him. “Come on, I’m ready, please, fuck-“

“You’re the boss,” Matsukawa says and the warmth of his hand disappears. Hanamaki tries not to be too obvious about half-humping the bed as Matsukawa pulls off his boxers and prepares himself. He knows it can only be take a few minutes at most, but it feels like hours before Matsukawa is settling in on top of him, the blunt head of his dick nudging up against Hanamaki’s hole.

Hanamaki bucks his hips right as Matsukawa begins to push in, ruining Matsukawa’s meticulously unhurried rhythm and getting more than a little gratification from the groan that earns him.

“See?” he asks, trying not to sound winded. “You like it my way, too, so stop being so stubborn about it.”

“You’re such a brat sometimes,” Matsukawa says as he sinks in all the way until he’s fit snug against Hanamaki’s ass. He drapes himself along the entire length of Hanamaki’s body, skin on skin, and he presses kisses against the back of Hanamaki’s neck, scraping along the bone there with his teeth, all while keeping his hips infuriatingly still. “So lazy in the morning and then so demanding when you decide to actually wake up.”

“You love it,” Hanamaki says, doing the best he can to move his hips with Matsukawa’s weight holding him down.

“Yeah, I do,” Matsukawa says and when Hanamaki turns his head he meets him in a kiss, morning breath apparently forgotten. Hanamaki can’t claim much better when Matsukawa finally starts to move in long, full thrusts that feel like they’re cleaving Hanamaki open in the best way possible.

He can only be grateful that Matsukawa appears to have let go of the concept of taking things slow enough to hurt, instead meeting the twitches of Hanamaki’s hips in a much faster pace that pushes Hanamaki’s breath out of him in harsher and harsher gasps. It feels like he’s driving in further each time, pushing him high and higher but it isn’t quite right, it isn’t hitting that perfect angle Hanamaki likes best.

“Issei, Issei, I need,” he groans and Matsukawa is so quick to respond that he must have been anticipating it, sitting back up on his knees and pulling Hanamaki with him, shifting them both around until Hanamaki can hold on to the headboard and Matsukawa can lower his head to bite at Hanamaki’s shoulder as he continues to thrust, one hand on Hanamaki’s hip and the other curled up around his chest, keeping them so close together that Hanamaki can feel every stutter of Matsukawa’s heart against his back.

“You feel so good, Takahiro,” Matsukawa’s voice is low and rough, hips moving faster and losing their tempo, pace growing more frenzied. “Touch yourself for me?”

Hanamaki moans and obeys, loosing one hand from his white-knuckled grip on the headboard to wrap around himself, carefully at first in case he’s still too sensitive and then with glorious abandon when he finds only pleasure in it. He tips his head back against Matsukawa’s shoulder as he listens to the grunts and slapping sounds they’re filling the room with and pumps himself faster.

Matsukawa stiffens behind him and thrusts in all the way, biting down harder on Hanamaki’s shoulder as he comes. He shudders and stills before the tension drains from him. He slides his hand down to join Hanamaki’s, twisting his wrist in quick jerks that send Hanamaki over the edge soon as well with a flurry of curse words and compliments.

They split the clean up, this time, Matsukawa tying off and disposing of the condom and Hanamaki using the towel to wipe away whatever is left on him and not the bed, before flopping back down against the pillows on the other side of the mattress and pulling Matsukawa down with him.

“Not going back to sleep _again_ , are you?” Matsukawa asks.

“Don’t worry, that woke me up for real this time,” Hanamaki says. “I’m just enjoying the afterglow for a few minutes. Geez, aren’t you supposed to be the romantic one?”

“I’m sorry for doubting you,” Matsukawa says and settles down, stroking his fingers over Hanamaki’s chest.

That’s what reminds him. “So, what were you writing on me earlier, anyway? Something soppy like that you love me or my name?” 

Matsukawa’s voice is slightly abashed when he answers. “The grocery list, actually.”

“That’s so domestic I’m actually disgusted by it,” Hanamaki says.

“We’re out of eggs,” Matsukawa says. “And now we also have to do laundry unless we want these stains to be permanent.”

“Absolutely disgusting,” Hanamaki says, but he doesn’t really mind. He can think of far worse ways to spend a day than with Matsukawa.


End file.
